My mother and stepfather began spending the winter months in Destin, Florida, the same year that I graduated from the Iliff School of Theology. So we began to go to Florida after Christmas. Our son took his first steps in Destin. On several trips we left after church, and I drove all night so we could arrive at dawn. Other times, we left in the wee hours of the morn (3 a.m.) and drove on Christmas Day and reached Montgomery around dawn. Our van had a bed in the back and the kids would sleep nearly all the way until we stopped for breakfast at Hardees at Florala. Michael inherited the holiday routine taking Amy and Maddy to his favorite spots. We take care of the dog.

I have lost count of the number of times we have gotten our feet wet in the winter surf. Nine years ago, we took my mother's ashes there per her request. This photo is from Navarre, with its pier stretching into the right edge. Surprisingly, this image was taken with my iPhone just after the rain stopped.

We all have holiday traditions. I miss Sunday School parties, caroling, Bad Santa gift exchanges, serving Christmas Eve communion, decorating sugar cookies, and probably a dozen others. For a view like this, I might even drive through the night. Nah, I'm retired. I've got time to travel sensibly.

I find this intriguing. There is so much I like about this image. Some photos I just want to pause and look at it for a little longer. This might be one.

Judy went to Fast's Greenery this past weekend because she was searching for some amaryllis bulbs, (Thankful for spell check!) and purchased several, already potted, for gifts and for herself. My mother always enjoyed an amaryllis during the season. In order for them to bloom, they require a combination of wet and dry. She would wonder if the bulbs were going to sprout, and she would call us once they started. And then again when buds and blooms appeared. It's a good memory.

The nutcrackers are on the mantle, the train ornaments are in the display table. We'll soon get out the nativity sets. And Pentatonix is on the television (YouTube). We're starting. 

A cruise can be difficult to describe: a floating buffet, quick day trips to picturesque ports with 2,000 of your new friends, or a traveling vacation with having to unpack only once. I think cancer journeys are difficult to describe as well. Six months had passed since my last PET scan and oncology appointment. I had no new symptoms or physical complaints. Everything would be fine you tell yourself. But I didn't have any symptoms with my original diagnosis. Apprehension had not vanished. As a survivor, I still feel vulnerable.

It's quite a relief then when you receive the news that still there is no evidence of cancer. My oncologist, Dr. Dana Thompson, entered the room and said, "Now this is getting exciting!" 3 1/2 years of being cancer-free since the end of my chemotherapy. Cancer reminds you that you are very mortal, at least the kind I had does. And the reality doesn't leave you. Thankful for physicians and care teams that are committed to cure if possible. And thankful for each new day. Looking forward to new destinations.

We bought a 9 feet tall pre-lit tree 6 years ago. Last Christmas, two of the strings no longer lit. It was quite a project last week to remove those strings as each of the 600 lights was clipped to a branch. And then it took several days to reattach 800 LED lights (good for 15 seasons). Yes, we could have bought a new tree as the lights cost $100. But there was nothing wrong with the tree, and we have time on our hands.

Why I am sharing this story is that our tree is covered with gift ornaments from parishioners, family, and friends. Judy would pause and say, "Do you recall this one?" Yes, it's from our first Christmas 56 years ago. And then each one of the ornaments surfaces another memory of beloved friends, many of whom are part of the church eternal. How blessed we have been and are. We both talked about how much we missed the class parties, and of course, our open house at the parsonage. (We don't miss the preparation for those, but we do miss the people.)

This path is old. Hundreds of years. Today is not something new that we will do. Familiar, time-worn. 

Advent calls us to wait again. Light a candle. Hear the prophetic message.

May we hear and see while we wait. 

If awe is the disappearance of self, then gratitude might include recognition of others. For some, it has been their gifts. For others, it has been their courage despite all odds. And others, through their words have provided encouragement and comfort. I know that I'm not alone.

"You have the smallest pupils of anyone I know," said my eye doctor yesterday. I told him that he says that every year. "Do I?" and without breaking stride, he added, "It's probably beneficial, sometimes." Really? Yes, it might make for a sharper, more distinct image in your eye. I found that surprising since I have worn eyeglasses since I was in the fifth grade. Focus is important to me. I have embarrassed family and friends at several theaters when the movie projector is out-of-focus and I just cannot ignore it. You'd think the audience would thank me. It's just so obvious to me. 

Some might call it a personality quirk. Nah, it's a gift from God. (I'm kidding)

The photo is from a roadside in Acadia National Park in Maine.